CC writhes on the sofa, back arching as she moans through parted lips.
“Still more, beautiful?”
“Don’t you dare stop, MacKelvie.”
I slide two fingers inside her tight, wet heat. When her back leaves the sofa, I clamp my teeth around her sweet little nub.
“Oh fuck,” she pants.
Her pussy quivers, tightening around my fingers. I pump them slowly, in and out, as I suckle her. Drawing out the pleasure from Celeste is a newfound pastime that will never get old.
She’s been beautiful since the day we met, but right now, she’s stunning.
Nothing will ever top the way she looks impaled on my fingers.
Well . . . maybe.
I can only imagine how fucking incredible she’d look riding my cock. Or manhandled in my rough grip while I fuck her, wild and desperate...
Oh fuck.
I suck down hard on her clit and pick up my pace when she starts to moan. A moment later, I’m rewarded, my name chanting through her lips as she milks my fingers, hips bucking off the sofa.
Losing contact for a beat, I say, “Good girl. Come all over my fingers, CC.”
She does what she’s told, riding my hand, bucking against my mouth as she teases out the orgasm.
And damn, I thought I needed her before...
When she catches her breath, she sits up, kissing my mouth.
Her hand falls to my stomach before her finger slides beneath my waistband.
“Tell me what you need, Quinnie. Please, I want to return the favor. Now I’m the one dying to taste.”
Big brown eyes hold my gaze as she slips from the sofa to her knees.
Chapter
Nineteen
CELESTE
The second my knees meet the hardwoods, I’m on fire again. Quinton strains against his Santa boxers, chest heaving, eyes darkened and homed in on my face. Disheveled and every inch of his body taut, he’s gorgeous. I giggle at the tiny Santas on his pajamas asking if I’ve been naughty or nice.
Sorry Santa, I may have been nice, but I’m about to ruin that.
“Celeste...” His voice is gravel over deep and desperate inhales as his hands slide into my hair.
I slide the boxers down, releasing his cock. His shallow breaths peter out altogether.
I sweep the boxers down his legs, and he steps out.
I rest on my heels and take him in. His hands fall to his sides, and when I look back up to him, I swear he’s stopped breathing.
Rising off my heels and back to my knees, I grip the base of his cock, keeping eye contact. His eyelids shutter closed, and his palms cup my face. “Fuck, woman.”
The smile stretching my face feels so damn good. How long has it been since Quin had someone to take care of him? He spends every spare minute working or being with Maisey.
